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There was a twitch of her lip that hinted at a smile, but itdisappeared nearly as fast as it had appeared. Suddenly I was convinced Estrelle had a sense of humor. One that was smothered in doom and gloom and fright, but still.
“Enough of the chitchat. I despise chitchat. Take these.” She picked up the carpetbags and thrust them toward me. “You will return these bags to me in exactly two weeks at tenA.M. Do not be late.”
I took the bags from her. One was much heavier than the other. “I don’t understand.”
She walked toward the front door, pulled it open, and said, “Goodbye, now.”
Stunned, I didn’t know what else to do but leave.
As I reached the doorway, I said, “But—”
Her pupils slitted like a dragon’s, and I snapped my lips closed and hurried onto the sidewalk. She closed the door, locked it, and walked away, soon disappearing into the storeroom.
And as I walked back to Maggie’s, I couldn’t help but notice that the monarch butterfly with the white wing followed me the whole way there.
CHAPTER 11AVA
Back at Maggie’s, I carried the carpetbags into Noah’s bedroom, set them on the bed. Full of curiosity, I flicked open the clasp on the lighter of the two bags. I peeked into its depths, my whole body tight with tension, not sure what to expect. Upon seeing a teddy bear inside, I immediately relaxed, my uneasiness replaced with interest.
When I pulled the bear out, it hung limp in my hand. It was missing most of its stuffing. It also lacked an arm, its nose, and an ear. It had large gashes all over its body.
“What in the world happened to you?” I asked, even though I suspected I knew the answer.
It looked like someone had taken sharp scissors to the poor thing. I’d seen it before.
When I was eight years old, I’d been in my bedroom trimming a piece of fuzz off my favorite teddy bear when my parents’ raised voices slid under my door and filled the space with their heat, their anger, their bitterness.
So entangled in their words, I hadn’t realized I’d accidentally snipped a big hole in the bear’s chest, slicing it wide open. The last thing I’d wanted at that moment was to ask for my mother’s help. So I sat on my bed with the sewing box Bunny had given me and carefully made the repairs. The stitches were uneven but surprisingly strong for being held together with nothing but the thinnest thread, sorrow, and salty tears.
Here in Noah’s bedroom, I ran my hand across the bear’s wounds, then looked into the bag to see what else it contained. I found a plastic baggie of stuffing and the bear’s missing pieces,minus the nose. At the bottom of the bag was a small sewing kit and an assortment of thread and needles.
I quickly opened the other bag, the heavier one. It was filled with old clothes and fabric scraps. On top of the pile was an infant’s daisy-printed romper, which reminded me of the one Juniper had been wearing yesterday. There was also a woman’s skirt printed with crows that had a drooping hem and broken zipper, and a ripped sweater patterned with the outlines of cartoonish dinosaurs. There were embroidered napkins. An assortment of vintage remnants. A single yellow cotton curtain with a pom-pom fringe. And even a floral tablecloth that had a big pink stain on it.
The whole lot looked like laundry-gone-wrong. What did Estrelle expect me to do with it? The skirt would be an easy fix, though that stain on the tablecloth was likely permanent. But what about the baby clothes? And the scraps of fabric?
I wasn’t sure. I also didn’t know why I felt the stirring of excitement when I looked at the mishmash pile of material.
I was trying to puzzle it all out when my phone rang, the ringtone assigned to my mother distinct: “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin.
“Hello!” I answered, turning my back on the carpetbags so I wouldn’t be distracted.
“Well, hello there,” my mother said. “Everything all right?”
“Sure,” I replied, overly bright as I made my way through the house and stepped out to the front porch. A steady breeze blew as I made my way to a rocking chair and sat down. Maggie’s house faced west, and the sunset was a sight to behold. As the sinking sun neared the horizon line, it colored the sky a glorious mix of brilliant orange and deep purple.
“How’s the new job going?” she asked.
“So far so good,” I said, still unwilling to share that I hadtwonew jobs. “The room that I’ll be sleeping in is full of boxes, so those need to be relocated before I can officially move in.”
“You’re not doing any heavy lifting, are you?”
“Not too heavy. There’s a cat at the house. Molly. She’spart Ragdoll. She’s beautiful and, oh my gosh, so fluffy. It’s hard to believe there’s even a cat under all the fur. She’s standoffish, but I think she’ll warm up to me.”
My mother was not one to be easily sidetracked, especially by a cat. “Did you tell the old man you’re working for about your condition?”
When I’d told her about the job, I might have exaggerated Dez’s age and frailty. Partly so she wouldn’t worry about me working for a man. Lectures about the dangers associated with being female had been included in the diet of cautionary tales I’d been raised on, each and every story composed of her endless fears. I’d lived a life avoiding risks to appease her worries. And though I recognized some of those concerns were justified, on the whole, they’d been suffocating.
“Yep,” I fibbed. And the lies kept coming as I added, “He had an epileptic cat once, so he figures he knows what to do in an emergency.”
